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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571663">Chronicle of the White Wolf</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dummiE3M/pseuds/dummiE3M'>dummiE3M</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Silver Thread [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, His hairs slowly turning white as the story progresses, Inexperience Witcher, Young Geralt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:47:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27571663</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dummiE3M/pseuds/dummiE3M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Following his journey decades before the start of my trilogy.<br/>...<br/>Notes:<br/>- Geralt originally has copper-blonde hair, an inherited trait from his mother/father.<br/>- His perception of the world is still naive, but he'll surely morphing into our beloved grumpy old boy.<br/>- [In my canon]Geralt was born in late 1193 or early 1194. feel free to use this as a reference to his age inside the story.<br/>...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Silver Thread [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581460</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Chronicle of the White Wolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Abandoned at a month-old.</p>
<p>Mutated at sixteenth.</p>
<p>Now, after four years of intense training as a witcher. Geralt, the son of Korin and Visenna, set off on the Path as a witcher; a relict of the old world that destined to crumbled and extinct like monsters they were made to hunt.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chronicle of The White Wolf</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>First Blood</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="u">Estimate early 1213.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">Blue Mountains, Kaedwen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>Amidst the harsh environs of the Blue Mountains located a fortress of old. Carved into the mountain’s face overlooking the most dangerous forest of all Kaedwen; where monsters dwell and thrive since the dawn of humankind.</p><p>Kaer Morhen stood tall for centuries following the founding of Witchers Order and is a home and shelter to the Wolves ever since.</p><p>On its courtyard, four men are standing in a semi-circle, two of them are beside their respective mares loaded fully with travel gears and supplies ready to take on a long journey on the Path after their survival against the mutation. One is a dark-haired individual clad in leather and silver studded armor with a sword on his back over the right shoulder, another was sheathed and stashed at the side of his horse and bound in leather straps. One is a copper-blonde haired man of pale complexion, his distinctive colored hair gathered into a bun at the back of his head and tied with a red strip of cloth, donned a studded armor of leather as well as having one sword on his back and another at his mare’s side.</p><p>Opposing the aforementioned two was an old man, seems to be in his fiftieth or sixtieth but his posture emanates good health and strength, clad in the same fashion of armor with the addition of chainmail and protective plates.</p><p>The youngest one that stood at the side fashioned his hair near the skin of his scalp, looking not older than twenty or lesser, and not wearing any suit of armor on him save for a piece on top of his chest to prevent any missed blow to really be fatal.</p><p>“Geralt, Eskel,” the old man said with a calm and proud demeanor “both of you are the only survivors. You’ve been mutated and from now on you’ll not be welcomed with warm greetings or friendly gestures, but shunned and disdained by those you will be protecting as a witcher.” Vesemir’s phrasing sounded like a solemn resignation more than words of warning “Keeps your emotions and opinions in check, do not meddle in the affairs of men. We witchers do not take sides, where men wage wars with their kind we must remain vigilant in our course.” Vesemir draws his sword out and presenting the flat of his blade that has engravings “<em>Dubhenn haern am glandeal, morc’h am fhean aiensin</em>; A flare that pierces the night, a light that scatters the darkness. Remember it well and let it steer your blades from the innocents.”</p><p>“See you in winter, Vesemir.” Eskel was the first to announced his departure to the group, mounting his horse and waving his hand towards them “Don’t die yet, Lambert. See ya, Geralt.” With that, the dark-haired witcher trudges his mount along the path leading to the main gates of the keep.</p><p>“Getting nervous?” the old master inquired as he saw Geralt fidgeting with his hair.</p><p>“Just feeling odd.” The younger man muttering to himself, yet his newfound sensibility made it seems like he’s screaming at the top of his lungs just a few feet away.</p><p>“Give it times.” The swordsmaster approached the newly mutated witcher and noticing some whitened strands among the sea of copper-blonde, evidence of the combination of traumatic stress and the new formulae subjected to him. “Don’t die out there if you will, Geralt.”</p><p>“Huh, one might say you’ve gotten soft.” The pale witcher replied in his trademark sarcastic tone and a chuckle at Vesemir’s huff.</p><p>“You’re kidding, right? Look at him; he’s almost as thick as a keg of Mahakam spirit right n—” almost finished with his witty remark, Lambert’s head has been walloped by the old witcher’s broad palm.</p><p>“Stop your wiseass and get back to the Pendulum!” Vesemir scolds the candidate and points his finger demandingly at the device adorning the wall of the Wolf’s keep.</p><p>“What do you think about Lambert? Is he going to make it through the trials?” Geralt inquired while watching the fiery and hot-headed young man fume on his way over to his training post.</p><p>“You tell me; mine was centuries ago but yours was recent.” Vesemir countered without taking his eyes off Lambert, a thoughtful expression placated on his face.</p><p>“He’s a prick, but it would be a shame if he died in the Trials. None has his creativity and talents.” Geralt replied with honesty, then he turns to look the elder in the eyes, slits and strange as they might be “I’ll best get going, must reach the village before dusk. Hope we see each other again comes winter, uncle Vesemir.” The fair-haired witcher bowed and retreated himself towards his mare, a Kaedweni bred chestnut with a white line from its forehead to its snout and following Eskel’s direction.</p><p>…</p><p>It must be four hours since he left the vicinity of the keep when he came upon a scene.</p><p>A group of men, bandits judging from their outfits and demeanor which his witcher’s eyes could pick from afar with such details. Two restrains a girl looking no older than fifteen or seventeen, her dress torn and almost reduced to a rag that clings to her slender and bruised body, screaming at the top of her lungs and thrashing in their grasps for her fading freedom. Another two circling a man must be the brother, with a rusty sword which he's swinging unpractically and wild. The boy trying to gain access to his captured sister but constantly been blocked and playing with by the two bandits.</p><p>“Lynn! Let her go you whoresons!” his yelling drowned in the bandits’ mockery and Lynn’s wailing as she’s been pinned to the nearby trunk, the hem of her dress lifted above her waist exposing her underwear beneath to all, especially the two who has her in their grasps that is now eyeing her like starved wolves.</p><p>“We might let you in on the game, boy. Have you not killed Jarden.” The biggest must be their leader, hissed in his sadistic and menacing tone “But don’t ye worry. We’ll take care of your lil sis real good, pretty little thing she is.”</p><p>“Save some for us, Filbert, don’t fuck her too hard.” The other one roared with twisted glee.</p><p>“No!” both siblings roared in sync at the same time, one desperate to save another while one felt the invading flesh start to parting her innocent.</p><p>Geralt flew into the ruckus, Aard shot at the biggest one with much force that knocked the towering man off the ground then crashed into a tree. Swift as a viper, the Witcher drew his steel fluidly in an arch that cut another bandit from shoulder to hip; his razor-sharp blade met almost no resistance.</p><p>The Witcher wasted no momentum as he follows the killing blow with a pirouette from below and detached one of their legs at the kneecaps, blood geysers and covering the snow beneath their feet, turned them into crimson ices.</p><p>Last one to be standing finally reacting to the slaughter by turning, which brings his half-erect cock away from Lynn and met with a pommel thrust from the Witcher. A crushing sound filled ears and the scream of agony soon follows, the rapist fell to the ground with his hands covering his family's jewel that seems to be broken.</p><p>Geralt reversing his grips on the handle swiftly to plunges the tip of his witcher’s sword down onto the wailing bandit’s throat; punctured and severed the vocal cord and trachea.</p><p>The Witcher side-stepping without the aid of visual to evade the coming sword of Lynn’s raging brother and countered the misguided attack by easily disarming the boy and sweep his legs off the ground. Knocking him out with a single jab of gloved fist straight to the jaw.</p><p>“You hurt?” his gravel voice was enough to jut her out of her shock, albeit not too effective and long.</p><p>Lynn managed only by covering her exposed and bruised skins behind a tree.</p><p>“Yuu phucga!” the broken-jaw big man gathered himself up from his crumbling position and charged the Witcher, with rage blinding him of the lightning reflexes of his opponent until it was too late. As Geralt left standing behind the man with his steel stuck firmly inside his enemy’s chest, utilized his foe’s attack for his advantage as Vesemir and Gurhaerht instructed.</p><p>Geralt calmed himself quickly, benefitting from witcher’s slow heartbeat, and retrieved his sword from the recently demised. Looking around and finally deduced the situation.</p><p>Corpses are lying around, excluding the bandits of course, and a wagon with horses mounted to it. One old man with a well-kempt beard indicating wealth and social status is now sprawling on a patch of crimson snow from his carotid artery that is now frozen. Two boys, one older and another younger than the survivors of the family, died similarly to their uncle or father.</p><p>“You alright—” before his question could be completed, Lynn caught a whiff of blood and gore on the Witcher’s being at close-range and mixed with the horrific scene she has witnessed then starts retching in front of the mutant. “Guess not.” Geralt ignored her for the time being, instead, he's dragging the corpses to piled them up “Can’t believe I’m actually wasting wyvern oil on this…but, what the hell.” He’s grumping to himself, as witcher’s essentials and ingredients can only be procured via hunting monsters or bleeding oneself dried trading with a merchant. After he emptied the container vial onto the pile of corpses, Geralt stood very still and controlling his breathing into a trance.</p><p>Lynn, through her blurry eyes and dizziness, sees the circle of snow around the Witcher’s feet rapidly melting and snaking its way closer then vaporizing and slithering inside.</p><p>Geralt can feel the amplifying of magic inside him, albeit it will not be as effective nor as powerful as real magic casting from even the novice wizard but Witcher’s signs can prevent a witcher’s death. The fair-haired witcher reeling his newly-absorbed Chaos and bends his fingers into an odd shape to shoot a stream of liquid-fire know among witchers as <em>Igni</em> at the pile of bodies, instantly catching them on fire, aim to incinerate the corpses before their scent could be caught by nearby necrophages and other species of monsters.</p><p>“Wha…What are you doing!” Lynn gathered herself up and limp towards the feared monster’s hunter, heaving her torn dress along the way.</p><p>“There are nests of necrophages around these parts, a scent of blood can travel for miles to those who have sensitive nostrils.” ‘<em>I would know</em>’ he added without voicing.</p><p>“But…But his ka would be restless! He’ll haunt our family till the end of days!” Lynn staggering towards the Witcher with much difficulty, thanks to those bruises that the late bandits left on her, in hope of stopping him from defiling her father’s and brother’s body.</p><p>As soon as she is close, her wrist was caught in his firm and tight grip. Up close as of now she can outline the details on his face; pronounce cheekbones, copper-blonde brows that turned white by half, a small scar over the bridge of his nose and another over his right brow, then hers met with his viper-like eyes that has amber irises.</p><p>There’s irritation in those eyes, yet she can make out some amount of pity and curiosity as well.</p><p>“Believers of Amun-Rae then?” he said.</p><p>“Yes, and that’s why burning a body before completing a ritual will be an act of defiling. Heaven would not accept them in.” Her voices softened.</p><p>“Fine.” The Witcher conceded with a grunt after several minutes of Lynn’s pleading. She saw him extends his hands towards the fire and absorbing the raging flame into himself, difficultly so as sweats collected on his face despite the harsh cold of the Blue Mountains.</p><p>“Thank you.” Lynn expressed her gratitude sincerely through her eyes.</p><p>Time passed by and the clouded sun nearly disappeared behind the shade of the Blue Mountains. Lynn and Johannes, her survived brother, finished their father’s and brothers’ funeral ceremonies.</p><p>“Igni…” Geralt muttered silently under his breath as he aimed his outstretched hands, shooting a stream of fire onto the bodies. “Says your goodbye already, the sun’s almost set. We must be out of these woods before nightfall.” The Witcher commanded in curt and dry voices, yet Lynn and her brother caught the slightest movement of nodding from him towards their family members. They saw him approached his mare quietly, appears to have a conversation with it.</p><p>“Do you trust him?” Lynn inquired quietly to her brother as the two finished with their parting words.</p><p>“He might save our lives, yet he’s a witcher; them are killers and vagabonds all.” The brother replied in kind, eyes never leave the back of a witcher who saved them and offer to escort them to Novigrad, as that was their father’s original destination.</p><p>“You two led the wagon upfront. If anything jumps us, run away as fast as possible.” The Witcher produced a spare broadsword of his to Johannes “You should have something to defend yourselves. Its blade was forged in witcher’s style.”</p><p>“What?” the boy reluctantly eyeing the weapon as if it contains leper, or rather distrust the monsters hunter.</p><p>“It weighs lesser than that rusty thing you fought those bandits with, sharp as a razor and more durable.” Geralt tosses it at the boy. Johannes instinctively caught it with his hands, feeling the weight of it as proof.</p><p>At first, Johannes reacted as if he caught a hot potato. Until he dropped it and reluctantly took it back up, drawing the gleaming steel out of its scabbard. Wonder to his eyes; the flat of the blade was etched in a strange dialect that he couldn’t read, straight and have double edges as sharp as the witcher has claimed.</p><p>“You.” The Witcher addressed the girl, startled her a bit.</p><p>“W-What?!” Lynn retreated away from him defensively, the reality of the recent events slowly coming to her mind.</p><p>“Know how to use a knife?”</p><p>“Well…” Lynn replied meekly, looking at anywhere but back at those piercing viper gaze.</p><p>“It’s easy, actually.” Geralt handed her his hunting knife “Aim for their jugular; here, just below the jawline.” He presses his thumb onto her pulse, felt shivers across her body “Anyone would die in a minute from this kind of wound, those who excited even more so. Wait until they are on top of you and unfocused, then go for it.”</p><p>“Here…?” Lynn inquired quietly as she presses hers onto his pulse as well, mimicking his earlier gesture. She flinched a little as the Witcher’s skin was so warm despite the chill and his heartbeat seems to be slower than hers. Her fingers linger on his skin by their own accounts until her brother called for them from the wagon.</p><p>…</p><p>“Alright, we look for a cavern or an alcove.” The Witcher said and scans the area through a veil of darkness from the lack of sunlight.</p><p>“There!” Johannes informed the others excitingly, directing the horses to the front of a cavern that he has spotted earlier.</p><p>“You two wait here. I’m going in.” the siblings saw the Witcher chug down a vial of milky-liquid as he dismounted his mare. “Don’t let her out of your sights.” He indicated to them regarding his mare.</p><p>“Should we leave it?” Johannes quietly inquiring towards his sister, who shed her torn dress for a spare one that is a bit loose.</p><p>“We’ll die before morn by ourselves, Jon.” Lynn protests.</p><p>“What if it tries anything like those bastards?” Johannes hissed, looking at the way which the Witcher disappeared to.</p><p>“Then he would’ve done that already. Did you see how he slaughtered those scums? You think he's afraid of you?” Lynn insisted and got down from their wagon of goodies, mists gathered from her breath as she moves to get the bedding and camping essentials off their ties.</p><p>“You naïve girl; simply fooled by its charm.” The brother mumbled under his breath and follows his sister to settling for the night, awaiting the return of their unexpected companion.</p><p>Not long after, the Witcher emerged from the cavern’s depth with a severed head of something terrifying, and a gash across his frontal leather plate with a tiny amount of blood seeping out. Lynn made a squeaking sound when she saw the head of the beast and quickly her eyes automatically scanning the Witcher for any injuries or so. He suffered non and that, surprisingly even to herself, brought relief.</p><p>Geralt tosses the head of an alghoul out into the wild, gritting his teeth as he sat down opposite the siblings and fumbles with his armor’s clasps. At last, he got them off and have only a layer of a shirt over his skin which reddened on the pectoral area courtesy of the late alghoul.</p><p>“Fuck…” the Witcher hissed quietly to himself as he inspecting the wound. It’s not so deep that it will pose any real threat, yet the dirt and secretes inside the monster’s lair must be infectious. Geralt rifling through his holding sack at his foot, where Lynn placed it beforehand and produced a vial of disinfectant and a clean rag.</p><p>“Should we be worried?” Johannes inquired from his position on top of a log while starting a bonfire “Will there be any monsters around at night?”</p><p>“Don’t think so. Alghouls prefer to hibernate alone in winter, but there are rare cases where a specimen will hoard ghouls within its nest and using them as a dogpile to brave the cold.” Geralt grunted while napping the soaked rag at his wound, cleaning and disinfecting it at the same time until blood stop flowing. “You two get some rest. I’ll be on guard.”</p><p>“Won’t you sleep?” Lynn asked.</p><p>“I can’t.” the Witcher replied simply.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Don’t concern yourself too much, girl, just eat, and get some sleep.” Geralt cut her short and gathers his thing up off the dirt, walking towards where his mare is posted.</p><p>“Lyn! Don’t mind him.” Her brother hissed at her as he saw his sister was about to follow the Witcher away from the fire.</p><p>“But—”</p><p>“Leave him be. Come here and eat, we must rest.” Johannes ordered in his authorized tone of voice, pointing a spot beside himself.</p><p>Lynn lingers her eyes on the receding witcher and after a moment gave up her former urge to sit alongside her brother as expected.</p><p>Geralt settled far away from the two, sitting in the nook near the cavern’s entrance. He took a deep breath, aside from usual scents found in the wild and a bonfire amidst the snowed forest, and caught a whiff of Lynn’s smell. Full of anxiety and fear.</p><p>Soon, the siblings fell asleep under blankets and furs while guarded by a witcher.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm still considering whether or not to play a time-skip card...</p></blockquote></div></div>
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